


kickback

by littlelansky



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Extended Scene, M/M, Making Out, charlie's into it, meyer maybe has a violence kink but it's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelansky/pseuds/littlelansky
Summary: Charlie's breath gusts out of him as Meyer steps closer, almost pressed up against his back. The clear blankness fades, burned away by Meyer's palm sliding along his hip, the weight of it solid and heavy even through Charlie's greatcoat."Get in the truck, Charlie."
Relationships: Meyer Lansky/Lucky Luciano
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	kickback

**Author's Note:**

> set immediately after their scene in the s1 finale montage. essentially a prologue to [gunpowder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237759), but both can stand alone.

The pistol kicks in his grip—smooth, fires clean, he's shot worse—and Waxey's man goes down. Charlie puts another slug in his chest, just to be sure, blankness filling his mind as he adjusts his aim and fires again. It's not like a knife fight, shooting someone. Or a dust-up, come down to it. It's more distant, comes easier and harder, somehow. There's no adrenaline surge upfront like sliding a stiletto through someone's ribs from six inches away, just calculation and clarity in the moment, the kind of thing that people think comes more naturally to Meyer than to Charlie.

Meyer, who never shoots a man if he can crack his jaw with a blackjack or a pipe instead. Meyer, who is standing three feet behind him, still like an iced-over lake is still, freezing water still rushing under the surface. Meyer, who watches men die like he's learnin' something new every time he sees it.

Charlie's breath gusts out of him as Meyer steps closer, almost pressed up against his back. The clear blankness fades, burned away by Meyer's palm sliding along his hip, the weight of it solid and heavy even through Charlie's greatcoat. 

"Get in the truck, Charlie."

Meyer's breath is warm against Charlie's ear, and his tone is low, dark. It sparks in Charlie's gut, but by the time he's turned around Meyer's out of reach, squinting at the tarp fastenings on the truck bed. Charlie swallows, hard, and bends down to rummage through the dead kid's pockets, leaves the cash and comes up with a ring of keys, and then he does what he's told and gets in the goddamn truck. 

He doesn't have to wait long—he's barely sprawled across his half of the seat before Meyer gets in, driver's side, and doesn't _quite_ slam his door shut. He glances over at Charlie, gaze dark and heated, and holds his hand out for the keys. Charlie's fingers might linger against Meyer's palm when he passes them over, and Meyer might shiver a bit at the touch. There's tension strung taut across his shoulders as he pulls back, every movement controlled in a way Charlie might've worried about three months ago, but now he just waits for the spring to snap.

Meyer turns the key in the ignition, and Charlie watches him, body angled toward the driver's side, looking as much as he wants now he's allowed. Around the steering wheel, Meyer's fingers flex, just once, white-knuckled against the black leather. Then he turns, alley-cat quick, and on instinct Charlie leans forward to meet him in the middle. Teeth sink into Charlie's lip as Meyer snakes a hand around the back of his neck, squeezes hard enough to get Charlie huffing a groan against Meyer's mouth. Meyer makes a noise of his own, deep in his throat, and they haven't been at this long enough Charlie knows for sure what that means yet but he wants to find out right in the middle of this warehouse. As it is, he tilts his head back, lets Meyer push him til his back's against the door and Meyer's almost in his lap, and fuck if everything about this doesn't get his blood racing. He loops one arm around Meyer's shoulders to tug him even closer, the other sliding beneath his jacket around his waist, sucking hard on Meyer's bottom lip. 

Fingers slide up into his hair, grip tight, and his head's tugged back against the window, and it's halfway between a whine and a moan that spills out of Charlie's throat. It is a whine when that makes Meyer pause, and he doesn't know when he squeezed his eyes shut so hard but when he opens them again he sees spots for a second before he meets Meyer's eyes. He can't help the grin at the look on Meyer's face—plenty worked up still, sure, but just a little caught off guard too. 

"Did good, huh?"

Any hesitance in Meyer's face evaporates, replaced with flat exasperation. Charlie likes to think it's fond. "Now you're fishing." He tugs a bit at Charlie's curls again, and Charlie's eyes flicker shut without his permission for a second. Meyer's got a calculating look to his face when Charlie looks again, and Charlie tips his chin up—offering, asking, who the fuck knows.

Either way, Meyer passes, releasing his grip on Charlie's hair after a long few seconds, and moving back behind the wheel. He can't help himself—Charlie huffs, loud and disappointed, as he straightens in his seat. Those dark eyes flicker over to him, just for a second, before Meyer shifts the coupe into gear, backing out of the garage and heading for Manhattan.

He makes it about two minutes before he's shifting closer—Meyer's sharp, he can keep an eye on the road and the other on Charlie. Another glance from the driver's side, and in the dark of the cab the corner of Meyer's mouth lifts, just a little, before he says, "Benny and Red are ready at the garage, for the crates and the truck. We'll make a profit off both, just gotta figure where to sell them."

Charlie snorts, reaching over to tap two fingers against Meyer's temple. "Yeah? Room for anything other than profits in your plans for tonight, huh?" Not the most subtle line, but his nerves are still fizzing from the kill and from Meyer. And if he maybe leaves his arm slung along the seat behind Meyer's shoulders, who's gonna say anything about it?

The little twitch in Meyer's lips splits into a smirk, and he glances over at Charlie again. "Didn't say we were staying at the garage, did I?" His gaze dips, quick, from Charlie's eyes to his mouth to even further down, before focusing on his driving again.

And that gets Charlie grinning himself, finally leaning back in his seat, arm settling more comfortably along Meyer's shoulders, heat simmering pleasantly in his gut as the road opens up in front of them. "S'pose you didn't."

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


End file.
